


Some Fairytale Bliss

by flammablehat



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, Sharing Clothes, Viktor has a lot of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 09:50:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10215062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammablehat/pseuds/flammablehat
Summary: Yuuri is a little like a maze, Viktor thinks.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from 'Something Just Like This' by The Chainsmokers and Coldplay. Much love to itachi, glim, and panda for their fabulous beta work. Love you guys!

“Yuuri,” Viktor calls, kicking the front door closed behind him. “I’m home! I got you a present.” 

He smiles, squeezing the little pig plush so it oinks faintly. Yuri had chucked it at him from a back aisle in the shop, scoffing when Viktor picked it up and kissed its snout. It might actually be a dog toy. But it’s the thought that counts, yes?

“A present?” Yuuri says, sleepy. Viktor beams as he turns from the coat rack and promptly drops the shopping, pig bouncing off the bag into the entryway. Makkachin leaps on it. Viktor would scold him for a thief if he could collect his jaw from the floor. 

Yuuri is leaning in the doorway to the bedroom. Yuuri is wearing nothing but Viktor’s training jacket and a familiar pair of black briefs. Yuuri rubs at his eyes, plucking idly at the jacket’s zipper as he blinks in Viktor’s direction. He’s not wearing his glasses. 

Viktor is still staring. 

He shakes his head, stepping over the shopping and taking the cuff of his jacket between his fingers where it bracelets the widest part of Yuuri’s palm. 

“You’re wearing my jacket,” he says. 

He finds he often loops around the obvious with Yuuri. Sometimes it’s to be annoying, because Yuuri’s face is great when it pinches, but more often it’s because Yuuri disrupts Viktor’s forward momentum simply by existing. 

“I was cold,” Yuuri says. 

Oh, Viktor’s heart quivers. It brings him up short. 

Yuuri more or less lives with Viktor now, in the wake of the Grand Prix Final. There’s nothing new about having Yuuri in his space, or using his things. Half the time Viktor can’t remember what’s his anyway. He’s mistaken countless socks and any number of small toiletries for Yuuri’s, their lives already blending, even where Russian or Japanese text once explicitly identified a possession. Sometimes it takes the delicate scent of vanilla and mandarin for Viktor to realize he’s pilfered Yuuri’s shampoo again. 

Truthfully, Viktor doesn’t invest a lot of meaning in things, either by nature or by habit. When would he have ever had time to...to have a favorite mug when he’d hardly spent the last ten years in one place long enough to form an attachment? 

But there’s something about seeing his jacket on Yuuri, overlarge yet still familiar. 

He slides a hand up Yuuri’s sleep-warm neck, skidding a thumb over the pout of his mouth. Yuuri flicks his gaze up through his lashes, a little baffled, and Viktor is helpless. 

He tips Yuuri’s face up into his kiss, skipping directly to a deep and greedy dig into Yuuri’s softness, fingers touching together at the base of his skull and thumbs pressing up both sides of his jaw. Yuuri hiccups a surprised noise and catches Viktor around the ribs, pulling him in closer by his shirt. 

Viktor has to let go of him long enough to toe off his shoes and kick them toward the door, stalking forward into Yuuri’s space and crowding him back into the bedroom. Yuuri fumbles around his back to close the door behind them. The sound of Makkachin urgently prodding the pig toy on the couch dies with the snick of the latch. 

“Viktor?” Yuuri starts, trying to follow the rainfall of kisses Viktor is dropping over his brows, across his cheek, on the tip of his nose. Viktor ducks to hook his hands behind Yuuri’s knees, smirking at the little yelp he makes as Viktor lifts him into his arms, thighs clenching around his waist. He’s careful to cup Yuuri’s neck as he drops them onto the bed, taking kiss after kiss and pressing them deeper into the bedding. 

His jacket has fallen open around Yuuri, slipping down his shoulders and bunching over his hands, leaving only his fingertips free. The lining is a vivid crimson against his bare skin. It makes him look like a partially unwrapped present. 

Yuuri sighs into Viktor’s mouth, fingers digging into Viktor’s back and tracing his cheek. There is a sweetness to him like this, fresh from sleep and happy to cradle Viktor between his legs, receptive in a way he hasn’t always been. 

Yuuri is a little like a maze, Viktor thinks. He prods the half-formed thought around in his head as he pulls Yuuri’s leg tighter around his waist. The deeper Viktor ventures into knowing Yuuri, the more old obstacles melt away into new, fascinating paths. 

Unlike a maze, getting out was never the point. Viktor was lost from the first time they danced together. 

Yuuri rolls them over with a little huff, sitting up on Viktor’s hips. “Have you always been this heavy or have you just been off the ice too long?” he asks, hair sticking up in several different directions. 

“How am I meant to take your insults seriously when you say them while wriggling in my lap?” Viktor says. 

Yuuri shrugs, climbing off the bed so he can stand and skim his briefs off his hips. The jacket slips even further down his arms; when he reaches to shake it off Viktor half sits up on an elbow, an abortive sound in his throat. Yuuri quirks an eyebrow at him. 

“Leave it on,” Viktor says. 

Yuuri tilts his head, easing the jacket back up over his shoulders, spearing Viktor with that deliberate feline grace he’s perfected since Eros. Viktor clutches at his chest, winning himself a sly little smile. 

Yuuri knees his way back onto the bed, thighs a taut vee over Viktor’s hips as his hands reach for Viktor’s belt. 

“See something you like?” he asks, low. 

Viktor drops his head back between his shoulders, swallowing at the slither of leather as Yuuri pulls the belt free and tosses it away. 

When he looks back Yuuri is leaning to grab the lube off the side table, abdominal muscles shifting under his skin. Viktor traces their edges with a finger, sliding up the shallow valley in the center of Yuuri’s stomach as he rights himself and drops the bottle next to Viktor’s leg. 

Yuuri’s hands return to Viktor’s placket, unzipping him and pulling the leaves of his trousers down just far enough to get a hand into his boxers. Viktor’s face heats when Yuuri draws his cock out, already flush and heavy in his palm. 

There is some quality of a performance to the way Yuuri flips the cap on the lube, tips a drizzle onto his fingers and lets Viktor watch the way it slides into the wells between his knuckles. On an instinctive level, Yuuri has a faultless internal needle that finds the captivating in what should be mundane — what would be rote or thoughtless in almost anyone else. 

Viktor feels fifteen again, struggling to breathe and stupidly hard. Yuuri gives him a knowing look when he takes Viktor back in hand, stroking tight and slick in a way that channels a growing heat at the base of Viktor’s spine. Yuuri’s legs settle a little wider, lining them up, and he rolls his hips just enough to keep Viktor’s attention on the glide of their skin. 

“God, Yuuri, what are you doing,” he breathes. 

Yuuri considers him for a moment before pausing. He leans forward, hands landing on the bed over Viktor’s shoulders, skimming his mouth over Viktor’s neck as he draws himself up to perch on Viktor’s chest. 

“Here,” he says, taking Viktor’s hand and squeezing a ribbon of lube over his fingers. Viktor’s breath hitches as Yuuri bunches the jacket up around his waist, going back up on his knees in silent invitation. Viktor rides the heel of his palm up Yuuri’s thigh, where he’s firm and soft with dark hair that thins to invisible fuzz just at the sweet curve of his ass. He spreads Yuuri with his free hand, sliding his cupped fingers into the warmth behind Yuuri’s balls. 

The stripe of heat across the bridge of Yuuri’s nose is radiant. Viktor teases him, circling his touch until Yuuri’s wet, legs just visibly trembling around Viktor’s chest. He pulls Yuuri’s cheeks wide and sinks his middle finger to the first knuckle. 

Yuuri’s eyes fall closed; he drops a hand back to the bed beside Viktor’s neck for support. 

“How much do you want, голубчик?” 

Yuuri catches his lip between his teeth. It reads as a shy gesture before he dips into Viktor’s ear and whispers, “More.” 

Viktor’s cock jumps; he bites a kiss into Yuuri’s mouth before he can lean up fully to leverage himself against Viktor’s hand. It isn’t easy to get more lube in this position, but Yuuri’s breath is already rattling with the rhythm Viktor’s giving him, and he can’t bring himself to care more about a bit of mess on their sheets than the way Yuuri looks right now. 

He gets his other hand between Yuuri’s legs, reaching until he can fit his first two fingers in behind the finger already working Yuuri open. He staggers the timing so he’s pushing in and pulling out simultaneously, stroking gentle and insistent against the stretch of Yuuri’s muscle. It makes Yuuri arch, his free hand hovering like he’s desperate to wrap it around his dick. He grabs the headboard instead, knuckles whitening around the churn of sheets in his other fist. 

Between Viktor’s hands and the subtle pressure of his forearms against Yuuri’s thighs, it doesn’t take much to coax Yuuri a little bit further up his chest — just enough for Viktor to lift his head and lick a stripe over the tip of Yuuri’s cock.

Yuuri’s eyes open and lock on Viktor’s. He releases a breath. 

Deliberately, Viktor tongues his bottom lip. 

Yuuri lets go of the headboard and threads his fingers into Viktor’s hair, sending a shiver from his scalp to the base of his spine. With a flex of his hips and the faintest press of fingers at the back of Viktor’s head, Yuuri eases his cock into Viktor’s mouth. 

It’s...not an easy feeling to describe. Full? Pinned? The intersection of the two — somewhere between safe and mastered. A moan skitters past Viktor’s control. 

He pushes his fingers deep as Yuuri’s supporting arm trembles and threatens to buckle at the elbow. 

Viktor’s body is a firestorm but his attention is fixed on Yuuri, picking across the language of his reactions with utmost care. Yuuri doesn’t surrender information easily, holding his breath until it gasps out and he has to rein it back in, tightened down with the clench of his eyes, of his fingers in the sheet and in Viktor’s hair. 

It takes nothing to be patient, to follow the roll of Yuuri’s hips, testing a fourth finger against the stretch of Yuuri’s skin, breathing steady through his nose. Viktor paces himself like he does in the lead up to a jump — when Yuuri’s breath whines out again, Viktor wins the fourth finger and leans into Yuuri’s startled thrust, swallowing around the head of his cock. 

Yuuri’s back arches and his mouth falls open on a stricken noise. Viktor takes advantage of his teetering control by freeing his right hand and using it to grab a steadying handful of Yuuri’s ass. He bunches the four fingers of his left hand and hooks them back inside Yuuri’s body, pumping with sustained, unrelenting firmness. Yuuri’s thighs go from tense quivering to outright shaking.

Viktor hums, ignoring the twinge in his neck to take Yuuri deeper, letting his lips catch gently on the corona of Yuuri’s cock with every tidal pull of his mouth. 

It’s as much an endurance test for Viktor as it is for Yuuri. His wrist is cramping and he’s getting lightheaded, but Yuuri isn’t quite there yet. 

_Not yet_ , Viktor thinks, as Yuuri’s gasping trembles into vocalizations — whimpers that his threadbare restraint can’t tamp down. 

_Not yet_ — as Yuuri’s arms finally give out and he drops to his elbows over Viktor’s head, the jacket falling around them like a curtain. 

_Almost_ — when he wrenches a sob out of Yuuri’s throat with a particularly delicate application of tongue and rough push of his fingers. 

“Viktor,” Yuuri begs. “Viktor, I can’t—” 

_Now_

Viktor pulls Yuuri’s knee wide until it loses traction on the sheets — no matter his core strength, there’s nowhere to go but down. 

Yuuri’s cock settles deep in Viktor’s throat as he curls his fingers, a brutal press press press that makes Yuuri’s whole body shudder and suddenly stiffen. 

Viktor doesn’t even taste his come.

He finds his way back to himself through a white haze. 

Aside from a sharpness when he swallows and some mild stiffness in his forearms, Viktor feels light, floaty. Yuuri has rolled off to his side, breathing hard with an arm thrown over his eyes. 

“Hey,” Viktor says, hoarse. He smoothes a hand over Yuuri’s hip, petting until his shivers settle into stillness. 

“God,” Yuuri finally says. He scoots down the bed until they’re about even with each other and slumps into Viktor’s side. “I’m okay, I just need a minute.” 

Viktor smiles, stretching his arms over his head. “Take your time,” he says, generous. That earns him a Look, which only makes his smile widen. 

Yuuri’s hand brushes over Viktor’s stomach and casually wraps around his cock, transforming Viktor’s lazy stretch into an invitation with a needy edge. He leans up into Yuuri’s touch, something in his gut sparking at the pleased, languid heat in Yuuri’s eyes. 

“Where were we?” Yuuri asks, slinging a leg back over Viktor’s hips. He sits up, prim, and holds up a finger. “Ah,” he says. “I remember.” 

Viktor closes his eyes, mouth falling open at the way Yuuri’s body takes him in — slow, tight, without a stutter. When he catches his breath and looks up, Yuuri is studying him. 

“Everything okay?” he asks, so artlessly sincere Viktor’s eyes narrow. 

“Perfect,” Viktor says, rubbing his hands up Yuuri’s thighs. “You’re lovely.” 

Yuuri hums, shifting his hips, working Viktor’s cock in a dirty, subtle grind. Viktor catches his lower lip between his teeth, letting his palms climb until he can grip Yuuri’s waist, the hem of his jacket swaying gently across his wrists. 

“Like that?” Yuuri whispers, watching Viktor’s face. 

Viktor curses, flexing into Yuuri’s movement. Yuuri tuts him, shaking his head, all the while coming up a little higher on his knees, giving Viktor just a little more depth. 

“It’s good,” Viktor grits through his teeth. “God, Yuuri, you’re so good.” 

“Ah,” Yuuri laughs, letting his head fall back. When he looks at Viktor again, he trails his fingers up along the open wings of the jacket, pulls the collar to his face and—

—inhales deeply, his eyes dark, heavy lidded, and leveled on Viktor. 

The breath punches out of Viktor’s chest and his throat catches on a shocked noise. 

Something flickers across Yuuri’s expression: a pause, like he’s hit his mark. 

“Oh. Maybe like this?” he asks, lifting a brow, the other half of his face shadowed by fabric and the curl of his hand. Viktor’s heels dig at the bed, fighting for purchase, for leverage to arch into Yuuri’s heat — deeper, harder. 

“Fuck, Yuuri,” Viktor whines, clenching bruises into Yuuri’s hips. 

“Shhh,” Yuuri says. “I know what you need.” The flush staining him from chest to cheekbones is mesmerizing as he leans down, lips brushing against Viktor’s ear. “Come inside me, Vitya.” 

Viktor has Yuuri on his back so fast Yuuri’s eyes shock wide, surprise melting into hunger as Viktor bottoms out, gasping. 

He buries his face in Yuuri’s neck, sinking his teeth into Yuuri’s shoulder, one hand knotting in Yuuri’s hair as the other pushes Yuuri’s knee back into his chest and Viktor gives himself the room to drive in, wild, the bed creaking and Yuuri breathless underneath him. 

The second his rhythm starts to falter Viktor grabs Yuuri’s face in both hands, pressing their foreheads together and panting against Yuuri’s mouth, letting Yuuri watch every second — feeling stripped to something raw, unvarnished. 

Yuuri’s hands come up and cover Viktor’s; he threads their fingers together when Viktor’s grip unlocks enough to relax into the touch. 

Since perhaps the first moment he looked at them closely, Viktor has loved Yuuri’s eyes — the dense skirt of his lashes, the warmth in the brown of his irises. He can feel Yuuri’s gaze track over his face now, intent and a little wondering. It makes Viktor shudder with the same hypersensitivity that sizzles at the root of his spine.

Yuuri brushes small kisses over Viktor’s chin, the tip of his nose bumping at the corner of Viktor’s mouth. “Hey,” he says. 

He seems unbothered by having Viktor draped on top of him and becoming progressively more boneless as his heart rate settles.

“Hey.” Viktor smiles. 

There’s a whine and a faint scratch at the bedroom door. 

Yuuri’s face crumples into giggles, his arm sliding up around Viktor’s shoulder. “We’ve abandoned Makkachin,” he says, voice full of guilty humor. 

“He is only concerned we are going to make him wait for his dinner,” Viktor says, worrying at Yuuri’s exposed collarbone with his teeth. “And also maybe that you have murdered me,” he adds, lifting his head. 

Yuuri shoves at him until he’s able to roll off the edge of the bed, staggering to his feet with slightly less grace than usual. 

Viktor watches him wander into the bathroom, suddenly acutely aware he’s still mostly dressed and everything is clinging to his sweaty skin. It is somehow both deeply satisfying and kind of gross. 

He gets up and begins tugging his shirt off over his head as Yuuri comes back with a clean, damp cloth, handing it over with a twinkly little smile. Physically incapable of letting that slide without retort, Viktor taps him on the bottom as he passes. He’s got one foot clear of his pants and kicks with the other until he’s naked, the remaining prickle of sweat on his skin disappearing with a few passes of the washcloth. 

As soon as Yuuri pulls the door open Makkachin takes a running leap onto the bed, spinning the sheets into even more of a whirl. He crouches with his rear in the air, gnawing very intently at something damp and pink between his paws. 

Makkachin releases the pig in exchange for a few good scratches around his ears. 

When Viktor presents it to Yuuri, the corners of his mouth deepen, like he’s trying very hard not to smile. 

“I got you a present,” Viktor says. “It’s a little wetter and somewhat more chewed on now, though.” 

Yuuri accepts it into his hands. He looks at it long enough that Viktor starts to feel a little sheepish; he probably should have let Makkachin keep it.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri says, looking up. Viktor isn’t prepared for the force of his smile or the faint sheen in his eyes. “I’d just call it well-loved.” 

Viktor can’t help that anything else he meant to say has dissolved from his mind, because sometimes Yuuri disrupts his forward momentum simply by existing. 

He finds that he can, however, tug Yuuri in close by the collar of his jacket and kiss him until they’re both breathless.

**Author's Note:**

> голубчик - little dove; darling. I pulled this particular endearment from this [incredible art](http://infinite-mirrors.tumblr.com/post/153866698695/infinite-mirrors-viktor-starts-sneaking-in) by infinite mirrors on tumblr. :)


End file.
